Walking this Earth may have no real meaning but we're all here.

Tuesday, April 5, 2011

Class of 126, Writing Practices

1. Don't remember what the rules were but this was in my note book.

He wears a suit of corded deniem when he walks under the sun. The thing's blue/ gray with shadows of black. The pin strip running down both shoulders are thick, thick like his inch long mustache.

His hair almost black with tints of salt, caused from old age, stress and his children. Well at least thats my guess. But since I know nothing of anything I may be wrong.

I come to class, watched by Sherlock Holmes it seems. He picks me a part, his thoughs are, "I wonder what that boy stole this morning, these days people have no respect."

I know he has friends, I see them. They buzz into the building, and lock the door on me. Then after I open the door with the rights from the key, they glare at me like I stole it. "Oh I wasn't going to let you in" snared the raspy old voice.

Then as I go to the stairs to get to the second floor I see them wait for the elavator that say four above the door, I laugh to myself. They wait while I continue. I knew they were going to his room, so i waited for them on the next floor, "lazy ass's", and they blame me for overconsumption and climate change while they are the ones who have been alive the last 100 years.

I wait by my door, right accross from his. They look scared and must think inside "oh he lives there, heaven lord."
"Why would you not let me in, I look normal don't I?," the words fall out of my mouth regardless if I wanted them to.
"You youngs, hard to trust these days," piped up one lady.
Thee other says "It's against regulations to let someone in."
"Not if they have a key, but it's nice to see the old are still cizilized," I replied.I walked into my room stunned by the friends of the mustache man.

2. Use the give start words and finish the papagraph.


I consider myself a highly capable person to ask questions, a riding cycle has two or three tires?
 I love it when they have three.
I am suspicious when they have more than three.
My definition of a four wheeled riding cycle is a quacycle.
I always think about my death very descriptive.
Finding a strand of hair in my food is like being shortened by a nail on the road when riding a quacycle.
I tend to see my death as a reflection of a quacycle, four dimensional that is.
If it’s raining when I wake then I immediately say “Fuck, if I ride my quacycle imma get wet.”

3. Write your autobiography: Love

I was born without legs
I have inside equity
My mother's father was urban french
She was a horse's best friend outside of food
My mother was a kind gentle sole, whom loved me
My father came from England, very wealth
His grand- uncle rasied him
His father left just after he was born
I myself have no father to love me
I am fond of my memories
I like a red toy horse for a christmas present
I led in operations at the age of eight
I had some knowlegde of death
When I was three they found cancer in my left eye
I felt that i was cursed
I had from the begining a medical sign over my bed
Perhaps at that time she should of given upon me.

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